The sickening echo of angry fists pounding on vulnerable flesh, the thought of organized human brutality as sport in prison, and the fact that the lead character is an arrogant and barbaric convicted rapist seeking any opportunity to cause more trouble while in the slammer just wont allow me to speak highly, let alone recommend, this film. Call me crazy. These are just a few of the reasons why I was put off by this rage-fest of traditional violence, mind you. I havent even mentioned the Mafia-connected, nasally speaking, squinty-eyed oddball played by Peter Falk, the scraggly yes-man who looks like a heroin addict with matted hair played by Fisher Stevens, the constantly disruptive editing of scene shifts, or the Zen Master of toothpick-architecture played by Wesley Snipes who talks like he has a permanent frog in his throat. Mexico Citys former cartoonist, Walter Hill, wrote and directed this battle-fest that plays like a music video for immorally aggressive violence addicts, making it the undisputed heavyweight loser of the summer.